Static Noise
by snarechan
Summary: Sarah Lennox, alone at the home front, has a nasty encounter.


Static Noise

By Snare-chan

**Pairings**: Sarah/Will, implied Blackout/Sarah  
**Ratings**: T  
**Category(ies)**: Horror  
**Warning(s)**: None  
**Status**: One-shot, complete  
**Summary**: Sarah Lennox, alone at the home front, has a nasty encounter.

**Notes**: Anx (also known as apocalyptic on livejournal) made a request for Blackout/Sarah, with the prompt "like dying." I rarely feel comfortable touching on the horror genre, but I couldn't get around writing this story without resorting to it since I couldn't figure out any other way to write this. I rather like how it turned out, even if it's most likely light by most people's standards. X3

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Transformers; wish I did like everybody else. They should put TF in stock, then I'd buy it all!

* * *

She'd been crying for a long time after she heard the news. Sarah was the wife of a soldier, and she had always understood the risks. She wouldn't have married him if there was ever a doubt in her mind that they would have a long, rough, and difficult road ahead of them.

And it wasn't that she hadn't acknowledged the possibility of something happening to him, either – she accepted his choice because he had accepted it, and in the back of her mind, every day that he was gone she thought about it and then immediately prayed that nothing bad would befall him. She would claim she lapsed into a routine of doing that, if it were at all possible for a human being to get used to worrying so much.

Then she'd gotten word of his leave, and she'd been so excited. He was coming _home_, was going to hold their baby girl and kiss them both and be safe in their house again. It was such a relief that she'd cried different tears than she was crying now.

But then he went missing, and she wasn't sure what to do with herself.

It was a lot of things: not knowing where her husband was at, whether or not he was alright, if she would ever hear his voice, see his face, or touch his hand again. She was so scared for him and concerned every minute that her mind was frazzled with all these apprehensive thoughts that made her stay up at night, desperately waiting for that phone call that would tell her William was going to be okay and waiting to greet her on their shared doorstep.

Tonight was another one of those, her eyelids feeling heavy enough to droop but not close, never close, her nerves too wired to let her sleep, even though she was accustomed to going to bed at ten so she could be up at two in the morning to rock Annabelle back to sleep. She was grateful for her daughter and her schedules, of needing to be fed and changed and taken care of so much, because Sarah found herself clinging to that kind of normalcy. Annabelle was the single thing keeping her sane.

Sighing, she tentatively picked up her mug of coffee, the blackest she had even dared to drink it since her college days. Back when she'd first met William-

She took a huge sip of it, wincing at the bitter taste. Even after so long, she had yet to become accustomed to it, but its warmth and energizing caffeine was desperately required to keep her going. In a couple moments it would strike the fabled 2 AM, and she didn't want to risk sleeping through it. Her baby would be fussy for the entirety of the day, and while she loved her daughter very much, she would rather pass on that additional kind of stress if she could help it.

In the background, she heard something. Their house was old, but not old enough to settle loudly at night, the occasional creaking rare enough that Sarah could recognize it from other noises. The one she was hearing wasn't very natural at all, which was why she picked up on it so easily, despite it being soft. It was electronic, she realized, but nothing she could immediately identify. Perhaps it was the baby monitor again – it was an old hand-me-down from one of her relatives, since their kids had outgrown the need for such safety precautions, and sometimes the frequencies would get crossed or go out.

Getting up to inspect it more thoroughly, she followed it towards the room they had designed for Annabelle. It was big with only her tiny baby furniture in it, but she knew it would someday be crammed with teen-sized pieces and would somehow have shrunk substantially. As she had guessed, the monitoring device set up in the room was on the fritz again, a couple high-pitched whining sounds coming through.

She ignored it at first, checking on Annabelle as soon as she entered the room. Her daughter was awake, shifting around in her crib and gurgling happily. At least she wasn't the type to be distressed at loud or new noises, instead often finding enjoyment in the unusual. She took after her father in that respect.

"Sa…"

Mrs. Lennox paused, hands tightening on the railing of her daughter's bed. For a moment, she had thought that-

"Sa…ra-h."

Sucking in a breath, she slowly turned towards the device. There was nothing unusual about it that she could tell, the white machine tiny enough to fit in the palm of her hand, same as yesterday, with the tiny red light in the corner flashing to indicate that it was on and working.

"Sa…rah."

Except she didn't remember the light being that color, nor did she remember it talking at her. In an absent sort of way, she wondered if she was dreaming. But did people who were dreaming _know_ they were dreaming? As a deep sleeper, she tended not to experience them often, the few she could recall offhand the typical stock. When she was feeling ill, she may have a nightmare or two, but it had been a long time since she felt sick. The stress must be getting to her, then. The news about Will must have triggered-

"Sarah," the voice said again, this time coming in perfectly clear. "I know you are there, Sarah."

Tightening her jaw, Sarah looked around the room. There weren't any large objects that would allow someone to hide behind them, and she had checked the house a dozen times already and knew that all the windows and doors were locked.

If someone was playing a joke on her, it wasn't funny in the slightest. Angrily, she swiped the monitor off of the dresser it was placed on top of and held it closer to her face, snapping, "Who is this? I don't know how you got on this, but if this is a prank, you better stop it right this minute, or I'm calling the police."

A sound she could describe only as sinister came in answer, though she wasn't sure why she settled on that. It wasn't like any laugh she had ever heard, but the electronic noise resembled both as it filled the room with its reverberations. Sarah could feel the beginnings of the hair on the back of her neck and arms start to stand on end, while Annabelle's cooing grew softer. Shakily, Sarah scooped her up into her arms, still clinging to the machine in her hand with a white knuckled grip that threatened to crush it.

"Are you lonely, Sarah?"

"Excuse me? That's…. I'm calling the police now."

She dropped the thing to the ground, where it bounced once, hard enough to knock the batteries clean out of it. It sputtered for a second, that disturbing noise like laughter coming through one last time before it faded away.

Sarah didn't do quite as she swore she would, instead rushing to the nearest phone and dialing a neighbor's number, one arm still desperately clinging to Annabelle, who was beginning to get finicky in her arms. Mindful to keep her grip firm but not painful, she ignored her protests for now and frantically asked for her friend, Susan, and whether it would be alright if she could visit for a short time.

They made arrangements for Sarah to be picked up within the hour, and in the meantime, she barricaded herself in her room, pacing up and down in front of her bed until she spotted the identical baby monitor sitting on her bedside table. The "on" light was glowing an innocent green, not a peep coming out of it, but she didn't trust it. She was shaking as she wrenched it up, undid a window and tossed it clean outside, all one handed, not caring where it landed, so long as she heard the plastic crack as it landed on the compact dirt outside.

For the remainder of her wait she sat on the edge of her bed, clutching Annabelle close, barely able to think, barely able to breathe-

-Fin-


End file.
